We talked for a while, my brother in Christ and I. He is getting a reputation. Whenever a group within the congregation formulates some complaint against a church employee, he seems to find himself on whatever small ad hoc committee is assigned to confront the surprised offender.
He was philosophical in explaining his unique burden. Everyone else seems to shrink from the unpleasantly brutal necessities of life. So it falls upon his lonely shoulders.
Yeah, I thought. Beating up on the staff really is kind of noble, if you think about it.
Back in those lost golden days of my youth, my daddy always told me there is nobody more arrogant than a Christian holding four aces.
Sometimes it seems as if we go to worship, not to find a humble transformation, but simply to feel more comfortable about our own holiness. Christian principles, Christian love, Christian compassion are all well and good, but we have to be practical, right?
Surely, Jesus would have us do better.
The centuries old story about two shipwrecked sailors has them washed ashore on an island. They have heard tales of dangerous inhabitants, tales exaggerated by the prejudices of their day. So they stay hidden, avoiding footpaths and open beaches. They eventually stumble onto a clearing and are afraid to come into the open, until one of them spots in the distance a small movement and discerns a gently swinging noose hanging from a gallows.
“Thank God,” he says to the other, “we are in a Christian land.”
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